


And While We Live

by juliaaa91



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: AU, F/M, Other, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9379880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliaaa91/pseuds/juliaaa91
Summary: Modern AU with Claire Beauchamp and Jamie Fraser.The title is a play with a book quote from Dragonfly in Amber, chapter 45: "We are one, and while we love, death cannot touch us."





	1. Prologue

She was wearing a black dress. It reached just above her knees, with a semi loose skirt and sheer black sleeves. He was wearing a blue shirt and well fitted dark blue jeans. She was tall and he was taller, by a palm and a half. He had a black leather biker jacket and blushing, asked her if he could keep his helmet in her apartment. Giggling and nodding, she pulled her own leather jacket in front of him… Prepared, aren’t you? She had decided to wear flats that day. After standing still for a moment, he was the first to leave the trance and waited for her to close and lock her door.  
They had this way of standing out and blending in at the same time. That’s why they were perfect for each other and they were on their way to find that out.  
Perhaps he had already. You could see his eyes linger on her every face change and twist. His eyes would grow big, his head would almost bobble at the same rhythm of her hand movements and he would smile, not exactly at what she might be saying, but because she had just dazzled him with a grin. He liked that she was so expressive when talking about her work and her hobbies and her uncle’s adventures.  
They ate and shyly, she asked him if he would like to go back to her apartment for coffee. As they walked back, the mood shifted a little. Or evolved… The tension was present, but it was an intoxicating tension, almost like a bubble that could burst at any second. The smells were stronger, the lights brighter and the footsteps on the sidewalk seemed to be taken at a slower tempo. The tension was ready to shift once again, it was something feline, ready to pounce.  
She had to kiss him. I have to. His lips had been calling for her attention and the bastard knew, as he had been licking them more often looking at her. Why would that be? Was that anticipation on his part as well?  
But would it worth be it?  
She didn’t know it yet, but she was opening the door to her future.


	2. Chapter 1 - Shoes UK size 7

**Glasgow, present day**

Claire Beauchamp had a very simple and fulfilling morning routine. Uni classes started at 9:30, but on week days she was usually up by 7, easily. Some habits are hard to break. Coffee, toasted bread with jam and the newspaper, were luxuries that Claire allowed herself.  _ Those little routines and certain things that helped her stay alive and sane in the early days.  _ She loved listening to the radio so her quirky alarm clock, shaped like a cat, was her morning best friend. She didn’t have to talk to anyone but was talked to and that was comforting.  _ Old habits are hard to break. _

She found comfort in preparing the notebooks she would need for the day, pick up her trusted set of BIC pens, her glasses from the bedside table and place them in her secondhand leather backpack before heading out into the world and out of her bubble.

During the days she anatomy classes, it made her chuckle how some of her classmates seemed to be having trouble keeping their breakfast where it belonged.  _ You haven’t seen anything dear chaps, really. _ Biochemistry days had her slightly on edge, as she felt the need to focus on that subject more than the others. She couldn’t wait for the weekly visits to the hospitals to come around, even though there were still a couple of semesters before that.  _ One day at a time. I have a promise to keep. _

When the academic day was over she headed down to her part-time job at a bookshop. A job she had started at Christmas time.  _ Barely two months of living in this city and J H R Christ, the abundance…  _ Claire really got along with her co-workers and had forged a friendship with her boss who insisted on her studying during the more quiet hours and helped her, making sure her work schedule and academic schedule would work together.  _ Human connections Beauchamp, remember that.  _ In the early days she just wanted to run and be alone. To be alone and run. Things were different now. Even though old habits die hard, Claire Beauchamp was a master in adjusting herself to a new situation, no matter how daunting,  _ how different _ , it could be.

If she was working she would have dinner at the store. Miss Glenna, her boss’ lovely mother, lived upstairs from the store and always cooked dinner for those working the last shift. The older woman always had a nice word to say, well seasoned with a scottish no nonsense attitude and she cooked heavenly. It was a comfort to get home with a warm homely meal in her belly.  _ Not taken for granted. _

Before bed, Claire would turn the radio on again, water her herbs, make a cup of tea and read or scroll through her  _ fascinating _ tablet for the topics that humanity might have found interesting that day.

Every night for that first year, she looked around in her closet taking her pajamas off the rack and glanced at the corner. There it was, the white dress, the narrow belt, the wool shawl.  _ Inconspicuous enough.  _ She would look down and assess the shoes and thought as an inside joke, channeling a lot of conversations she found herself having with friends and mates:  _ God, I’d never use them now. Maybe some day. _ Claire wouldn’t get rid of them. She was unsure if she might need them again. But now, after what had happened the past week, that hope of being sure had vanished. At the moment, she was not minding the uncertainty.

  
But they were there, the worn just the once, brown leather, UK size 7 shoes, with the inside tag that read “LONDON - 1945”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for reading! Just the super exciting (not) warning that some liberties will be taken and book and tv elements will be mixed. Any feedback is welcome! <3


	3. Chapter 2 - Uncle Lambert’s little helper

_ It was so windy… So loud. Such a turmoil inside my body. It looked like my organs had separated from their cavities  and stood in suspension for a while, before they return to their place. I felt my hair in the air, I felt so light.  _

**Glasgow, present day**

She had dreamed of that day, tonight. And she had dreamed of Uncle Lamb again. It was all a mess in her sleepy mind… Opening the curtains of her bedroom, she noted how the clouds seemed to match the turmoil going inside her brain. They were white and grey and so, so angry.  _ I am not angry. I am confused, I am tired of battling demons I don’t recognize.  _ Adapting to a new place, a new job, a new time ( _ JHRC!!) _ , was not easy. Letting go of the past, of the literal past, felt like tearing up an arm. But she had made a promise to her Uncle, a promise she was hell bent on keeping. 

A few months after moving into her apartment, Claire was still in a whirlwind of new things, shiny discoveries, amazing places that she reached without leaving the same spot. On that Netflix programme, she found and watched the most amazing film - “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade”. Sean Connery reminded her so much of her Uncle Lamb, that she found herself putting it on for company and comfort, while she cleaned or cooked. 

Uncle Lambert knew. He knew a lot and while he hadn’t prepared her for it, he had left everything ready for a life she had to now live as if she hadn’t had one before. She was thinking about her old life, as she made her coffee and toast.  _ The war was over, it was time to think about other things. About marriage, about family, about where in the world Uncle Lambert was now. About not wanting to stop being a nurse… What would Frank think about that?  _ Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was a Blitz survivor, a true bachelor of the english kind. If he was a wanderer before, the war had just turned him into a bigger one. While he hadn’t asked to raise Claire and certainly wasn’t a by-the-book child tutor, he had done a good job. Claire was who she was, in part, because of the life she had led with this man. All the adventures, the stories, the work, letting her be who she wanted and do things considered not proper for an english little lady or lady to be… 

After the stones, however, Claire had a turmoil of doubts about Uncle Lamb. The pieces of the puzzle started to be put together quickly after her arrival. 

In the 30s, Lambert Beauchamp had settled for a bit in merry old England while Hitler rose to power. He had decided to teach at Oxford. There, a few years later, Claire met one of her uncle’s students, Frank Randall: dashing historian, older man. Uncle Lambert liked Frank and never stated any sign of approval, or disapproval, for that matter, regarding the relationship. But he did insist on them not getting married right away, not for the wrong reasons, or so she thought…  _ Wait until we settle this mess, my darling girl.  _ This mess being WW2. Claire saw right through him and while Frank would have liked to be legally married, Claire followed Lambert’s advice. Nothing prevented them from meeting and act like husband and wife when their leaves from duty allowed it. What was a piece of paper?  _ But now, it seemed Uncle Lamb simply didn’t want that tie to exist, that legal impediment. What else Uncle Lamb, what else?  _ Frank and Claire had seen each other and had a good relationship and courtship for a year, until war erupted. The United Kingdom did its call to arms, Claire followed her calling and trained as a nurse _ , you said it would be the appropriate thing for a woman, Frank, but if you saw me now… And if you had listened to me then… _ and Frank put his knowledge to the service of the MI6 after being recruited from officer training. Their correspondence kept them alive to each other, the rare but well enjoyed encounters had been good. And they were planning on getting married once the war was over.

In the autumn of 1945, they were in Scotland, in Inverness, in a magical romantic inn. They had been together for a few days. They would have gotten married on *that* day, if it weren’t for Uncle Lambert’s accident, that delayed his trip north.  _ Accident...? _ It was going to happen the day after if it weren’t… If it weren’t. More than 70 years had passed, it literally felt like yesterday. Claire also thought about those days with some longing, but with a tug in her heart, a question mark forged into her sithx sense. After years of seeing each other scarcely, of two day trips where the needs of the flesh were more urgent, after letters that were rare towards the end and in which a quick “hello, I’m alive, I’m alright” seemed enough, there had been some awkward conversations, some clouds of doubt that were quick to dissipate when the adrenaline of the decision of getting married rose in her heart and in his pleading arguments. 

Claire’s loneliness made her heart ache for Frank and what could have been… But she had made a promise to her dear Uncle. She promised to carry on living, she promised to follow her dreams, she promised to not look for him, she promised not to look for Frank.  There had been a Claire Beauchamp in 1945.  _ Unfortunately killed in action, or so the documents said *snort*. _ But there was a new Claire Beauchamp in the 21st century, born in 1989. One that had in her hands a pack of letters to open, in order,  _ per another request _ . 

_ “Please madonna, please follow your uncle’s instructions and open one by one, follow the dates on the envelopes. Trust us.” “Please Claire, ye have to promise us.” She was still so confused, so dizzy, but these people were there, they knew her, they knew Uncle Lamb, they were standing in the middle of the square in Inverness while she was running around looking, wanting to go to the police because surely someone must’ve stolen her car after. “I feel asleep picking flowers. That was it! I must’ve forgot to have a decent breakfast.”  _ _ They were there when she started looking around and getting out of her frenzy state into a slightly more frenzy Scottish town with cars that really weren’t cars, street signs that she did not recognize, clothes that looked strange. Everything was the same and everything was different. The short froggy man and the tall read headed woman approached her, casually, “Hello Claire, please keep calm.” “WHERE AM I?” They smiled like she hadn’t just screamed, like she had just said hello how are you dear friend. “Please Claire, we are friends, we are here at the request of your Uncle… I’m Gillian, this is Raymond.” And so she went. _

Claire shook off the memories, the doubts, the questions. Every three months she opened a letter, an action that left her with more questions than before. She had been so tempted to look for them. When the loneliness was almost strangling her. But she kept the promise. 

Putting the mug in the sink, she checked her reflection in the mirror, applied lipstick, tucked her shirt in her jeans, put on her coat and went off to another day of classes. As she turned to close the door on her building and check something in her purse, a black motorbike stopped at the traffic light in the road ahead. The helmet didn’t quite completely hid the mop of red hair peeking underneath. The biker liked what he saw when he turned his head while waiting for the light to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Any feedback is most welcome! :)   
> This is also on tumblr over at http://iwanttodriveyouthroughthenight.tumblr.com , if you prefer to read over there!


	4. Chapter 3 - Serendipity

“What’s your name?” 

“James Fraser, but please call me Jamie.” 

Claire was hovering over him, the visor of the helmet was open and the deepest ocean blue eyes were looking at her. Smirking? Smizing? She recalled having heard the term somewhere… She wanted, needed, to see the rest of his face.

Funny how time works.  _ And don’t I know it.  _ Five minutes before she was searching her purse for her sunglasses, when she heard a high pitch sound, something that would preceed a crash, something that triggered other traumatic events deep inside her brain. Her first instinct however, had been to immediately run to the scene: hands up and procedures and protocols being recited inside her head.

The man was already trying to get up, although his bike was on the other side of the road and the driver behind had been paying enough attention as to not run it over and probably cause a bigger accident. Claire approached him quickly, placing a hand on his chest, gently forcing him to lie down. He did open his visor and Claire took out the little flashlight she carried and checked his pupils. There was a quiet wisdom coming out of this man’s face, or from the half of it that Claire was seeing. 

“Don’t need to fret. I dinna bang my head.”, he said without being able to wince a bit. Experiences told Claire that stubborn men could not be trusted while laying flat on their back: “You did hurt something, let me call an ambulance.”

“Aye, my back hurts a bit, but it’s from an old injury. I just landed flat on my back, but the jacket I’m using is extra padded because of that, I’m fine lass, thank ye. Might get a bit sore later.” He was in fact using a big biker jacket, very similar to what a professional race biker would.

Making the motion to stand up, Jamie held to Claire’s forearm. He was tall, she thought. And from his sudden jiggle, a bit dizzy. “I live in that building right there, next to the bakery. We don’t need to go all the way up the stairs with you like this, but let me take you inside the shop so you can sit down. Can I call anyone for you?”

“Well, if you dinna mind, yes please. My brother-in-law, Ian, is probably wondering where I am… We work together.” They say curiosity killed the cat and that was the case with all the voyeurs flocking around the scene. But Claire didn’t really notice that, as she put Jamie’s arm around her shoulders so he could support himself. One of the bakery lads had picked up the bike and pushed her to the sidewalk. It was a bit battered and scratched, but didn’t seem to have suffered as much as its owner.

“Nothing that a good mechanic cannae help with,” said the lad, whose name tag read Willie. “Thank ye, my godfather will have a full day fixing it and cursing me at the same time, for the fall. I think the brakes might have failed me”, added Jamie, while sitting down in a small chair.

Claire had her hand on his back, and gently dragged them away to the front, unzipping the jacket.  _ Why am I doing this so slowly? _ He was breathing slowly, steadily. Claire’s perception of time followed that rhythm. Her heartbeat was following it too,  _ for some reason. _

What she hadn’t quite noticed, was that his eyes had been following every twitch of her face, every blink, every stroke of her hands he could feel.

What she had noticed however, was that his eyes were blue; a deep, kind, warm blue.  _ Like the sea was on fire. _

She stood in front of him, sliding his jacket down his arms, in close proximity. The warmth she felt made her suddenly and strangely shiver, as she looked from his neck to his face and he asked, smirking:

“What is your name?”

“Claire Beauchamp.”

“Claire...”, he repeated, almost like savouring it.


	5. Chapter 4 - Letters

**I - 3 days after arriving**

Claire was lying in bed. Not one ounce of motivation to leave it, everyday just staying in an oblivious cocoon for ten minutes more, then twenty minutes more. She felt herself drowning in the pounding unforgiving sounds of her rocky heartbeat. It wasn’t like her, but her inner anchor to the world was disappearing. She opened the letter Gillian had given her the night before and reread it. 

_ My darling niece, _

_ I know. I am deeply sorry for this voyage you endured. There is no easy way to explain this to you, my darling, but know that what you just experienced is unique to each individual, but has been part of our family for many generations. For your own safety I can’t tell you anything more, but I promise I will, in due time.  _

_ My darling bee, you have the exquisite ability to survive. Survive by living. Like you dear papa, my brother whom I miss so much. Like your beautiful, strong mama. I can assure you with all certainty, with all the facts and notes and observations that you, my little curly wonder, will thrive. Please, don’t be afraid, trust my friends Raymond and Gillian, and LIVE. _

_ All my love, _

_ Uncle Lamb _

 

**II - 10 days after arriving**

_ Dearest bee, _

_ I wish I could give you this in person. By now Raymond already explained what exactly happened and Geillis has filled you in on the mechanisms of the process. I must confide in you I took many of these trips in my youth. Too many, in fact, and that’s why I have to wait a little while longer to be sure I can do it again…  For the most important reason of all: being able to see you again.  _

_ For practical reasons, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, born in 1918, died in service of her country. Pardon my bluntness, but please realize that this was no accident. Your destiny has been written for a long time. I know you're hurting for Franklin. I can assure you he is hurting for you as well, this is not his fault. I promise you I will look after him for as long as I can and for as long as he needs me to. You may be asking: who are you to talk to you about matters of the heart? It will always hurt a little bit my darling… You were meant to be on this journey, as Frank was meant to be in your life for as long as he did. Both your war experiences had different challenges and this is one of them.  Trust that feeling you always had in the pit of your stomach, you think I forgot you letters to me during the war? Your concerns? _

_ You will have more answers, but promise me you will live your life first before looking for them. _

_ With love, _

_ Uncle Lamb _

Claire folded the yellow paper and saved it inside the envelope. She would place it inside a shoe box, next to the clothes she was wearing when she arrived. And then, she would wipe her tears and head to the library.  _ I am sorry Uncle Lamb, but I have to know.   _

 

**III - 40 days after arriving**

She found out Frank had gone off to America one year after her disappearance. She found a few books under his name, Scottish history of course, but didn’t dare look for more that afternoon. Would she ever know more? Had he let her go? Was he still alive? 

Claire wasn’t sure she wanted to look for him, she only wanted a way to go back to her life. But she knew Uncle Lamb wouldn’t ask for her promise if he didn’t mean it. Truth is… She missed her uncle most of all. In the Beauchamp practical manner of thinking, Claire assumed that time moved in parallel on both sides of the stones. It bothered her that Frank was still looking for her and that she had no way of letting him know she was alright. If she were honest with herself, that was what she was worried about, more so than going back to her impending marriage. These days she was starting to take out her feelings from the drawers she was used to put them in. Compartmentalize was a mechanism of survival, but now that the dust was settling and she felt more calmer (Gillian was proving to be a good friend aside from Uncle Lamb’s requests, as was the mysterious Raymond), she was able to think about what she had left behind. 

She felt relief in not having to please someone. In not feeling forced to arrange excuses for her desires, in not justifying her likes and dislikes, in not dealing with suspicious vibrations. Claire and Frank had a wall between them that she had hoped to tear down…  _ But that was before. _

_ My darling niece, _

_ If you are not furious at the simple thought of your old uncle, know that I don’t have all the answers. I barely have any at all because my darling girl, what is meant to be is stronger than the will of men. I simply wish to make it easier for you, to cushion the anxiety and worry. I know you, your incredible ability to adapt to any circumstance. This time it won’t be different… The people you left might suffer, but the wisdom of the universe will help them too. Please remember I just wished to make things easier for you… _

_ As I write these, you are on your way to Scotland. And I know it’s just the beginning.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Uncle Lambert _

  
_ PS: Darling bee, you need someone who believes (in) you without wanting to prove anything. _


	6. Chapter 5 - Numbers and Names

In 2017, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp was actually Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Lambert. A simple adding of a name was the consequence of the rebirth of a woman. The father’s name on the birth certificate was one of an hypothetical son of her uncle, simply to add a few more branches to the tree and confuse possible lurkers, complicating matters enough as to discourage whoever wanted to handle Claire’s family tree, even the plain clerk officers or academic secretaries. 21st century Claire was simply named after a courageous niece/cousin of her “grandfather”, dead in action during WW2.

The day Claire met Jamie was the date of the opening of the fourth letter Uncle Lambert had left her. Since the third one, she had been doing better in enduring the three month interval she was supposed to keep in between them. But she knew Uncle Lambert would not really expect it of her unless she had a routine well settled and a calmer look on things. He knew his niece, he knew she’d adapt and thrive. 

But the piece of paper she held in her hand in that exact moment was one that held a phone number. James Fraser’s phone number. While she was in the bakery’s bathroom, the now recovered, helmet free, jacket free, _very tall_ Jamie, wrote it down and put it in the front pocket of her book bag. She found it while looking for her pen, after managing to get to the uni building in time for the second class of that morning.

Claire smiled to herself and typed his number and name into her outdated phone. _Still working my way through these._ Carefully she put the small piece of paper back in her purse, safely inserted in her wallet. She had to stop herself from smelling that piece of paper. Since that morning she had a musky, nutty, leathery, strong scent following her around. She lingered on that olfactive memory, not really thinking too much into it, simply enjoying it in a state of calmness that the scent itself provided. He was suffocating her in the best of ways, but she was so clueless… She would still be for some time until denying was no longer an option. For now, the wish to have a new human soul to bond with was a good thing for Claire. One more step to normalcy.

The feelings for Frank were still there. She called them love, because it was the name she had learned to give to these emotions, that squeezed her heart at that moment. Surprisingly, not in a pleasant way. Not in the same way that the sensation of hugging a creamy leathered jacketed body created in her… She’d have another name for the Frank feelings in the near future, some kind of guilt mixed with respect.

When Claire got home that morning, she went to the letters box and picked up the next one in the cigar smelling pack. The three months were up, it was time to open letter number 4.

She opened it, she read it and she folded it back into its cream coloured envelope. It was all she needed to read at that time. However, her Uncle’s words left her emptiness hurting. Claire needed comfort, she felt alone but surprisingly not lonely, and she felt the need to share that with someone. At first, she tried to pick up the novel she was reading but she didn’t pass the first paragraph. Five minutes after trying to organize her notes for the day’s classes, she picked up her phone and slowly typed a text message.


	7. Chapter 6 - Letter #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Lamb has one more letter for his darling niece.

My darling bee, before you keep reading, I have one request. I ask for your forgiveness for not warning you, for not telling you how we were and what you were destined to do. I saw you the other day. It was the oddest sense of déja vu I’ve ever experienced, and I’m an expert of those, these days. For it was on the very same spot I saw you for the first time in 2017. That was how I knew you’d travel to where you are now, to be there… I needed to make sure you were alright. I’m so grateful, my darling niece, for the habit of adapting you inherited from your father and myself. Beauchamps are practical creatures. On that first sight, I was taken aback. On the second I had to make sure you were really there. The first was accidental, as my curiosity led me to travel back and forth to take a look at what humanity would accomplish. The second one was on purpose… To see you. You see, the issue with this gift is that it takes a harsh toll on the traveler… Body, mind, dare I say soul, as well. That is what Raymond and Geillies are trying to understand. They told me not to do it. Travelling to the same place, to the same date twice would be dangerous. I just had to do it. I am mighty glad I did. Frank left Scotland yesterday. He took a position at Harvard that had been offered to him some time ago. He told me you knew nothing of it yet and that it would be a wedding present… I daresay that you, my Claire, would not face that as a present. For it wasn’t thinking of you. I do like Franklin a lot, you know that. I advised him to go. He suffered, my darling, know that he did. Six months he stayed here, six months he tried. It pained me however, that his first thoughts were, shortly after, that you had ran off with someone else. Someone from the war. At first, the police put that option on the table (and don’t begrudge them Claire, you know they had to… If it were a man disappearing, they’d never, we also know that). He refused, but I saw a spark in his eye. I thought to myself… Quentin, why is this young man already half convinced that Claire left on her own will? I know why… And you do too, my darling bee. You were not the same people, especially you. You found your calling, and I doubt Franklin had his sight set on a path for you both. I felt he always looked at you as a companion, as a guarantee. You, Claire, are not to be taken for granted by anyone. Much less by the man you choose. So, we both know (do look inside your heart) that you two were simply not meant to be. Sooner or later. Even with all the suffering and heartbreak, I’m relieved it happened sooner, rather than later. I’m afraid I fell a little under the weather with my latest journey to check upon you. Travelling in the true sense of the word, leaves a mark. Please be careful. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you now, my darling. Your uncle was a fool, but he knows you’ll be alright. This is my last letter. The other papers you have are documents, envelops of photographs and memories in postcards. Please, my Claire, LIVE. I love you, Uncle Lamb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse as for the time it took me to update this. I'm sure everyone was just as caught up in season 3 as I was. Still no excuse, if you are still there, bear with this rambling. My Claire and Jamie just need to talk a little more often to me.


	8. Chapter 7 - A coffee date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the beginning.

She simply asked him if he was alright. And if his godfather had been too harsh on him. And if his friend (and brother-in-law, as she recalled) had been too worried. She couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the need for human connection, for what she couldn’t get from her brief contacts with Gillian or Raymond. Maybe she just needed a friend.  Raymond was too much of a father figure, and with Gillian there was still a barrier there to break. She liked her alright, she had been nice, showed around the shops, how things had changed since the 40s. How women in 2017 dealt with menstruation, underwear, clothing, even cosmetics. She taught her all about internet use, gave her her phone and a Netflix password. Went with her to the bank. But still, there were motivations there that Claire did not yet understand.

She was surprised to see how fast he replied. But he had, after all, been the one to slip his number in her bag.  

**J: Thank ye again for all your help. I’m very happy ye found my note. I was too intimidated to give it in person, forgive me. They weren’t too bad. ;) I am doing alright, just slightly sore and hurts if I roll on my right side in the middle of the night.**

**C: Are you quite sure you don’t have a dislocated shoulder?**

**J: No, don’t worry. Thank ye kindly, S!**

**C: S? My name is Claire…**

**J: I remember it very well. Sassenach… It’s an old gaelic term for englishman/woman. Outlander…**

Claire felt her cheeks flame as her eyes fill… He had just reminded her that she didn’t belong there. What was she doing? However, the dots on the screen kept going. 

**J: I mean it with no harm, please don’t interpret it that way! I’m so sorry Claire, I mean it with the best intentions, not as a definition. This is one of those times texting is awful. I wish ye could text tone as well…**

She blinked, the wound was open, but she smiled.

**C: Don’t worry :)**  

**J: Would ye like to meet for a coffee some time? Or a drink after yer day? I’d like to say thank you in person. I hate the lack of tone in texts… Sometimes I think I’d be better off in the 18th century. :P Simpler times and all.**

Oh… She smiled even bigger. 

**C: I’d very much like that. I understand completely. Technology can be overwhelming. Do you mind coming back to the scene of the crime? Saturday morning, 9? Unless it’s too early…**

**J: I am an early bird! ;) It’s a date. See ye there, S.**

 --

Two days later, on saturday morning, she was sitting at the table inside the bakery. She felt nervous, she felt guilty. But at the same time she felt so hollow, alone. Those feelings were all flying around. Which one was the most powerful? She couldn’t tell.  

And then she looked up and he walked in. Helmet in hand, that damn black buttery leather biker jacket. She had its feeling imprinted on her hands. The way it hugged his wide shoulders, when she had taken it away. 

He also had the widest smile she had ever seen, opening up as soon as he spot her. 


End file.
